


Golden Lights

by asterCrash



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Sex, Biting, Consensual Infidelity, F/F, Impact Play, Infidelity, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9807308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterCrash/pseuds/asterCrash
Summary: Angela comes home reeking of alcohol and other women and Fareeha has to decide what she's going to do about it.





	

Angela falls through the door of their shared apartment, brushing her knees off as if nothing has happened while Fareeha stares at her from over the top of her reader. Her nanites glow inside her and whiz around her body as they try to sober her up and fix the flush of her skin. They only make the lipstick marks all the more obvious, at least three different shades and that's not counting the golden teeth marks and bruises that are even now writing themselves out of existence.

She trips again as she gets out of her shoes, this time landing on the bed, not gently by any measure. She shimmies out of her clothes as she crawls up next to Fareeha, still hot all over, still glowing. She has an easy time undressing, she was barely dressed to begin with. Fareeha looks her over, ninety percent certain she had been wearing a bra when she left home, though that's definitely not the case now. More golden teeth marks litter her breasts.

Even as the nanites purge the alcohol from her system, ensuring a guilt-free hangoverless morning after, Fareeha can smell it on her breath. Her last drink was an old fashioned, as usual. She still hasn't said anything, not a greeting, not a “how was your night”, not a “where were you”, but Angela lets out of a throaty chuckle regardless as she nibbles blindly at Fareeha's jaw, her body still so hot and glowing. Her hands are insistent, searching, groping. Fareeha is just in her pyjamas, she'd retired a while ago to read a book, abandoning her news and tactical readers to the dining table. They're hard to tell apart but it's worth keeping them separate, Angela tells her she needs to learn how to switch off, she thinks Angela knows too well how to switch off.

Slender hands climb up her shirt, warm and sticky like a summer day in Cairo. Fareeha wants to be mad, she wants to say no and push her off and make her sleep on the couch. She can smell other women on her breath, under the alcohol. Angela leers at her, either oblivious or uncaring as to Fareeha's inner turmoil, or worse, enjoying it. Seeking hands find her breasts and squeeze, roughly.

Angela has gone back to nibbling, tracing her way down Fareeha's neck, sinking her teeth into the muscle, hard. Fareeha groans despite herself and Angela laughs, victorious. She laughs as the bigger woman rolls on top of her, presses her down in the mattress, writhes underneath to get herself comfortable. She is very comfortable. Fareeha cups her wife’s breasts roughly, golden light shining through her fingers, Angela moans her satisfaction and bucks up, already warm, already wet.

How many this time, Fareeha wonders, as she tastes sweat and champagne on soft white skin. Would any number satisfy her? She’d seen it before, when Angela had cherry-picked twelve of the best-looking doctors in Europe to join her. A squirming pit of limbs and mouths and Angela at the centre of it. Screaming with delight.

It wasn’t her scene, Fareeha had decided, and she decides again now as she lays bites into all of the marks covering her wife’s body. Marking her dominance, her possession. Hers. The nanites swarm to each new mark, blistering gold, turning supple skin into a living disco ball. She looks so wanton and so wanting, again Fareeha wonders what will ever be enough for her.

Sex in the military was quiet and private (unless you were fucking a private, the joke went) but that didn’t mean it was vanilla. Fareeha’s nails rake lines down Angela’s arms, gold flowing through them at a second’s delay. She works her way down with teeth and nails and fists when Angela begs her, begs her please. Her hands are expert and every strike is rewarded with more noise, with more light. Angela tastes like a whorehouse (the language is distasteful, but Angela insists) Fareeha laps her up, feeling warmth she’s sure so many other women have known tonight. There are more golden bite marks inside her thighs and Fareeha works these over as well, savouring the sucking in of breath as she pushes her wife’s pain tolerance, gripping pale legs as tightly as she’s able.

Angela has a hand on her own throat and the other is fisted in Fareeha’s hair, pushing down, desperate, _demanding_. The mark of a woman who never has to hear the words “not now”, “not here”. Fareeha’s tongue lathes her way up as rough as she’s able, spite flowing through her even as she spares a hand to attend to herself. Fingers feel like hardly enough, her palm pressed into her clit not enough pressure, not nearly enough. She tastes Angela, moving her other hand to enter her, one finger then two, curling, beckoning, scissoring open. Angela bucks and pulls and moves to show her approval, her freed legs wrap around Fareeha’s head and speak for themselves, _don’t you dare move, don’t you dare leave me unfinished_. Fareeha doesn’t disappoint, and it’s minutes before she feels the waves of tension and release run up her wife’s body, and here’s the choked screams of a job well done. The neighbours will be traumatised, but for tonight Fareeha doesn’t mind letting them be.

She doesn’t give her time to get her breath back, doesn’t let her savour the afterglow. She’s crawling up her wife’s body like a predator, applying kisses and bites judiciously, even taking a nipple between her teeth and tugging until she gets a cry to let her know she’s not alone here. Angela shimmies down then, lust fierce in her eyes, love maybe there as well, but less important now. Fareeha makes a decision she’ll regret and tears her underwear to get it off rather than have to leave Angela’s warmth long enough to undress. She lifts up only long enough to get Angela’s face underneath her before dropping back down over her mouth. The effect is instantaneous, and she was hardly unaroused beforehand. The headboard only barely supports her as she leans on it hard, to keep from Smothering Angela underneath her. She’s panting, she knows, feels like she’s ready to run a mile naked in the sun, like she could fight ten men and win, like she if she was at that fucking party she could pick Angela up over her shoulder and carry her back here. She feels Angela’s tongue at her and knows where it’s been tonight, where it’s been before. She knows the list of conquests by heart, though she feigns ignorance if questioned. _It’s fine_ , she ruts down on Angela’s mouth, _I’m fine with it_. She knows that list includes her mother’s name. She knows that plenty of her coworkers see her and see the horns, know her for a cuckold, think they’ve known her wife in the same way.

This is the thing that keeps her going, and it’s at the forefront of her mind as she feels herself reaching her peak. Gold is rising up Angela’s cheeks, nanites working against the burn of her blushing, Fareeha can feel it against her thighs. The thing that keeps her going even as the snide remarks point to the meaningless band of gold on her finger. The thing that keeps her going when she sees fear prickle on some intern’s skin as they look up at her. The thing that keeps her going is that none of them know Angela like Fareeha does. She rides her face and stares down at those gorgeous blue eyes, looking back up at her, so fierce, so intense. Fareeha chokes back a sob, chokes back the welling moan within her. She could fuck half the planet and still none of them would know her the way Fareeha does and she wouldn’t know them the way she knows Fareeha.  
Fareeha lets the orgasm tear through her as she collapses against the headboard.

None of them know her, because at the end of the day? After she’s _done with them?_ She leaves her little toys behind, broken and wet and wanting. She leaves them behind and she comes home to her wife.


End file.
